Death By Your Hand
by StoryGirl02
Summary: It is not going to be easy, Draco, he had been told, killing some off your old classmates and comrades. You will find it easy at first, but there will come a time when you won’t be able to kill someone. Mark my words, dear son, and heed them well. COMPLET


**Death by Your Hand.**

_It is not going to be easy, Draco, he had been told, killing some off your old classmates and comrades. You will find it easy at first, but there will come a time when you won't be able to kill someone. Mark my words, dear son, and heed them well, for they will prove useful._

He shivered and took a long look around. His Manor, torched. He couldn't understand it. Why would they have done such a thing?

He took a step forward, nearly tripping over a cloaked body. He whipped his wand out and carefully pulled the sleeve back, shivering in the wind. Ah. An ally then.

Draco shivered once more, pulling his thin robe tighter around his body, glancing around the snowy field. So many dead. So many. Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters. Whole family, slaughtered one by one. Like animals. Had the Dark Lord no manners?

He shook his head gently, mindful of the bleeding wound on the side of his skull. No, he mustn't question the Dark Lord or else a bounty would be on his head; a bounty many would be happy to collect.

He stepped over a body lying angled on the ground, shivering once more. He glanced down, eyes gazing at the proud orange band wrapped around the dead's arm. Eh, so one of them was dead. That could only mean good luck for him, couldn't it? It must mean it, it must.

Shivering, he wrapped his arms around his thin chest, grey eyes staring at his boots as he mumbled un-heard words under his breath. Draco sighed. He was not a brave man, far from it. He had fears, many fears. He knew curses; dark curses, and was re-known for using them on weaker opponents, unarmed opponents. He liked to watch people squirm, and was not proud of that fact. Far from being proud of it. His father was though. His son, he often raved on about, would be the next Dark Lord, Voldemort's heir. His son was the best Dark wizard of his generation. His son, he muttered softly, was their salvation.

Draco ran a hand over his face, sighing as he brushed away a tear before it had the chance to fall from his eye. His grasp faltered on his wand, almost dropping it before his hook his head and tightened his hold on it. What was wrong with him? He was alive; they dead. They couldn't possibly hurt him anymore. He had the weapon and the curses and the strength. And they? Nothing. Nothing could hurt him, not anymore. Not harsh words, nor a harsh blow his father dealt upon his face and body. He was Draco Lucius Malfoy. And just that. Not the 'savior'! Not the next Dark Lord. He was Draco and just that. A killer. Draco.

Nobody had ever loved him; they had loved his wealth, his beauty, his power. Nobody had ever loved him- his-self, his true face. He was destined to be alone, for all of eternity, as punishment for his sins.

There was a cough from below him. He glanced down.

"You're standing on my toe," said the dark form. "Could you please not? It rather hurts, I think."

"Be glad I haven't killed you yet," He muttered darkly, a scowl appearing on his lips to be interrupted in his misery.

"I know you," said the form, weakly standing up, and brushing snow off its cloak. From it's arm an orange band dangled, loose and wet from the snow.

Draco noticed this. 'I should kill you right here, right now, you stupid Order member!" He shouted at the form, his knuckles white on his wand. He pointed up at the form's hooded face.

"But you won't." Replied the dark form.

"How do you know that?"

'Because I know you," began the form, its hands creeping up to the dark hood its face was hidden by. Slowly, in the cool night air, its hood dropped back onto its shoulder, revealing a smiling Hermione Granger. "Hello ferret!" She chirped, wrapping the band tightly around her arm again.

Draco smirked at her. "You know," He began. "You really shouldn't have done that. Give me all the more reason to kill you, _Mudblood._" He spat the word out of his mouth, a stinging remark.

Hermione glared at him. "Yeah, like that hurt. You know how many times I've heard that, today? Millions. 'Prepare to meet your end, Mudblood.' 'Die Mudblood, die.' Blah, blah, blah, blah. But I particularly liked the one from your aunt. 'You're cocky now Mudblood, but I'll be the one laughing when you come up against my nephew. Draco. Perhaps you've hear of him? Next Dark Lord they all say. He'll get you good, that he will. Never once let a man go. He'll be the end of you, Mudblood.' Blah, blah, blah. But are you going to do it, Malfoy? You going to kill me? Because I don't care. I killed probably a hundred of your Death Eaters out there. Probably killed some of your friends too. Pansy perhaps, maybe Goyle." She trailed off, tapping a finger to her chin in thought. "So, whatever. Go ahead Malfoy, and kill me. Because at least I'll know that I die a hero's death and was a crying little coward like you. At least I didn't cry at my mother's funeral. At least my life was-"

"_Silenco!"_ Draco roared, his face red as he pointed his wand at Hermione's mouth. "Shut up, Granger. You don't know a thing, but you think you do. You don't know a thing."

Hermione raised her eyebrow, before her hand crept up and she flashed him the bird, her mouth moving to form the words, "Sod off, you coward."

Draco snarled. "_Immobulius_!" He shouted, smirking as he saw Hermione freeze, her finger locked in its position. He walked over to her, gently tapping the frozen finger. "How easy to break it off. How very, very easy."

Her frozen face seemed to scowl at him in its stillness.

"You think that my life was worthless? You think that I am a coward? Good. Stick to those thought, because you know what Granger? I am not a coward! Cowards run in the middle of a fight, whereas I stood there, bleeding severely, near death, trying to protect my unconscious mother for your pack of Order members, all bent on killing Narcissa Malfoy and finally making a dent in Voldemort's alliance. So, do you really think that you know me, Mudblood? If you do, I ask you to think again."

Her frozen eyes seemed to roll at him, mocking him even though she could do no more harm. Granger knew who had the power in this fight, and unfortunately, for the first time, it wasn't him. His stinging remarks couldn't hurt anymore, Mudblood was useless to him. She had heard it so many times before it would even make a difference it he said it to her until the day he died.

"My life wasn't easy, Granger. Did you know that? While you were adored and loved by your weak Muggle parents, my father took delight it brandishing his wand against me, on cursing me until I could feel nothing but pain. So, Granger, while you were playing with dolls, I was on the floor of the dungeon sobbing my heart out in front of my father, who, instead of comforting me, kicked me and told me to shut up." Draco paced in front of her, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes darted from her face to the battlefield in front.

When he turned for the last time of the night, her lips moved. "I never played with dolls," She managed through gritted teeth.

His eyes widened. For the first time in his life, he actually met someone that could break his spells. Of course, that much had been expected from Hermione Granger, but she had taken less than he had estimated for her. He checked the pocket watch in his robes. Four minutes. Four minutes and she had broken a spell that it had taken him a year to master.

There was a reason she was called the brightest witch of their age.

Enraged, he punched the tree beside her. Her half-frozen eyes widened and fear, and with a smirk, she realized she had never seen a man enraged. Sure, battles were old hat to her, but in the form of actual violence when the party delivering it didn't have to fight for their lives, he beat her in leaps and bounds.

"Scared, Mudblood?" He asked, drawling in her ear. He pulled his fist back from the tree, eyes pouring into hers.

"No," She murmured softly, the rustling of the tree above causing a few leaves to land on her shoulders.

"You should be."

"As if."

Her teeth gritted together as though she was in pain, and with a hoarse grunt Granger's arms struggled against invisible bindings. Swiftly, they escaped the spell and she was free.

Free to taunt him, to mock him, for being less than a shadow of the boy he had used to be. In some ways, he missed his Hogwarts years and missed the way everyone there, at that time, had accepted him as the leader, had allowed him to grow up thinking with one click of his fingers his will would be done. They had allowed him to grow up flawed terribly.

A monster, he supposed, with his swagger and the way he went around thinking only he could be right, and everyone else was simply wrong. Terribly flawed, horribly hated by everyone, that was he. He was destined to live a life of pain, of suffering, to make up for all of the pain he had caused others. His life was mapped out here before him, and he was just following the list, never straying off the path.

Granger's hand snapped around and collided with his cheek sharply. "Oops!"

Draco growled. "You little bitch," He said, rubbing his cheek, one red, one white. "You little Mudblood bitch. How dare you."

Granger smiled. "I dare because I know that I have the right. You were free to taunt me at Hogwarts, so now, on the field; I am free to slap you. Malfoy, you are nothing but a hollow man, a machine, with no heart and absolutely no soul. This is how you will remain."

He swore, pushing her to the ground. Granger fell onto the snow, the smile still plastered onto her face. "Go ahead," She said. "Kick me; punch me, whatever you please, I shall allow. Pain has become nothing to me now."

"Go."

"Why? I would love to remain here."

"Go now, before I change my mind."

"No."

"Now."

"N-O."

He hauled her up from the ground, and shoved her back onto the battlefield. She stumbled, nearly falling back onto the body of, he supposed, another Order member. With a sharp gaze, she grabbed his arm, scratching him with her nails, leaving red welts on his Dark Mark. He howled in pain, falling to the ground and satisfied, she turned, walking away.

Nothing needed to be said. She had triumphed over him.

But, years later, as he prepared to send his only son to Hogwarts, the scratches only faint lines on his arm, marring the Dark Mark, he caught her gaze.

And she smiled.

* * *

**A Happy Belated New Year to all my wonderful readers and reviewers. Hope your Christmas was awesome and that you received ****what you wanted. :) Reviews are appreciated! **


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